The Alphabet Challenge
by Octopus Fine
Summary: A set of 26 drabbles with the crackiest pairings you'll ever find. Will contain slash, smut, angst, COMPLETE CRACK, and much, much more.
1. H is for Hyetal

**BEFORE YOU READ, I HIGHLY SUGGEST YOU READ THIS FIRST...**

This is the first part of a huge challenge 'fic that me and my friend made up. It's sort of a contest between us two to see who can finish the fastest.

The rules for the challenge fic are this: at the beginning of this, we picked a random word that started with each letter of the alphabet. After that, we wrote down the first 26 pairings from the random pairing generator. We had to use each one of those pairings in a different drabble that centered around one of the random words we picked.

To say that this was challenging was an understatement. But, it's been super fun and it's really helped me broaden my thinking process a little.

Since I've got most of these done, there will be very frequent updates. I'm thinking a drabble a day until I run out of letters? Sounds good to me.

First one is of the least crackiest ones. At least they've talked to each other. XD

Do review, please!

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Title: Hyetal  
Rating: PG  
'Verse: G1  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  
Pairing: Ironhide/Bluestreak  
Warnings: None, really.

_Hyetal- of or relating to rainy regions._

You could ask anyone who had ever been on a patrol with Bluestreak what the sharpshooter was like, and they would all attest to the same thing: spending long periods of time with Bluestreak was annoying beyond belief.

Sure, the 'bot was friendly enough, and he was a valuable sharpshooter, but, Primus Almighty, that 'bot could talk.

It was just Ironhide's luck to be stuck on a three-day patrol with the talkative mech. In the Amazon rainforest, too, where there was more rain than _people. _Naturally, the old 'bot was as happy with his current situation as, say, a cat forced to take a bath.

Between the incessant chatter and rust-inducing rain, Ironhide was at the limits of his not-so-endless patience.

"… so rainy on this planet. In Praxus we never had this much rain. Does Cybertronian rain even count as rain? Since, you know, its artificial rain and all. Hmm… I remember this one time that the crazy rainmakers got loose and pelted Praxus with acid rain. It rained for weeks and weeks until the troublemakers were caught, and they-"

"BY PRAHMUS, AH CAIN'T TAKE IT NO MORE." Ironhide furiously turned around, wildly flailing his arms. "FER ONCE IN YER EXISTENCE, WOULD YA PLEASE JUST _**SHUT UP!**_ It's bad enough that there's all this pit-spawned rain, but yer chit-chattering is gratin' on mah processors! If ya weren't so Primus-damned _cute,_ Ah woulda slagged ya vorns ago!"

Bluestreak's doorwings drooped sadly at Ironhide's outburst, staring dejectedly at his pedes. Instantly a pang of guilt punched Ironhide right in the abdominal plates. He shouldn't have said that, the poor youngling was only trying to be friendly. He opened his mouth to apologize, but was met by an apology from the other mech.

"Oh, sorry." The Datsun sighed, kicking at a downed log near his pede. A realization hit him, and he blinked up at the larger mech. "Wait. You think I'm cute?" He peered curiously at the older mech.

Ironhide froze. He'd said that, hadn't he? He flushed, glaring accusingly at the log Bluestreak had just kicked. "Well, Ah…"

Bluestreak couldn't help himself, blurting, "That blushing thing you're doing right now is pretty cute, too."

The veteran shot back up, squawking incredulously, "I ain't blushin'!"

At that, Bluestreak could only chuckle and shake his head, walking past the red mech to continue their patrol.

As Bluestreak walked past, Ironhide could have sworn that a doorwing brushed suggestively against his back. He whipped around to throw a questioning glance at Bluestreak. The Datsun tossed a coy, "Well, aren't you coming?" over his shoulder, his hips swaying invitingly as he strolled along.

Ironhide subconsciously licked his lips. "Hey, wait up fer meh, younglin'!"


	2. M is for Mango

Yes, robots do indeed looove mangoes. Just go along with it, okay? :D

Oddly enough, this one was the first one I thought of. In normal situations, robots and mangos would have absolutely nothing to do with each other, right? Pssh. Not in my brain. 8D

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Title: Mango  
Rating: T  
Verse: G1  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  
Pairing: Starscream/Astrotrain  
Warnings: Just a little groping this time.

_Mango- a tropical evergreen tree, Mangifera indica, native to Asia, cultivated for its fruit._

"Ugh! Just what is this slag?" Starscream screeched unhappily as he stepped on another unfortunate tree. That tree, of course, happened to be bursting with over-ripe fruit and quickly seeped sticky, fruity mush into Starscream's foot thruster.

The lithe flyer growled angrily. Yet another complaint to add to this mission's report. The tropical weather was sticky and stiflingly hot, there was squishy slag EVERYWHERE, and his partner for the mission had a tendency to jump unsuspecting Seekers.

"Megatron would send me on this useless mission, the slagger!" He ranted grumpily. "That is why I should be leader! I would never even consider stupid missions like this! That glitching, old, ignorant fool!"

He stomped forward, pushing back the many trees in his way. It was just his luck that one of them, a giant of a tree overfilled with orange fruit, came straight back to hit him square in the chest, splattering sticky mango insides all over his cockpit. After a fast moment of shock, Starscream's anger hit a boiling point. He clenched his fists and drew in an air intake to screech his fury to the sky.

Taking advantage of the Seeker's distraction, his "companion" decided to make himself known, grabbing the seeker by the waist and pulling Starscream to his broad chestplate. "Well, what's this? You've gotten yourself all dirty, Starscream." Astrotrain purred, his dual-toned voice husky and low. He traced a glob of mango on the confused Starscream's shoulder. "Do allow me to … _assist_ you in cleaning up."

Starscream could only watch in horror as the triple-changer, practically vibrating in arousal, licked a long, slow trail down his cockpit. 'Oh, slag.'


	3. Z is for Zest

_And now for a much more serious drabble..._

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Title: Zest (or lack thereof.)  
Rating: M  
Verse: G1  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  
Pairing: Motormaster/Perceptor  
Warnings: Noncon, sparksex. Mentions of rape, abuse.  
Author's Notes: IT HAS THE WORD ZEST IN IT. D8 it counts, right?

_Zest- flavor or interest, piquancy. Spirited enjoyment, gusto._

"So needy." His captor's voice rasped close to his audio receptors. A deep chuckle rumbled through Perceptor's chest as the sciencebot whined at the larger bot's touch. "So _wanton."_

Perceptor panted, pushing down that lingering feeling of disgust and shame bubbling up his neck cables with a single choked sob. Motormaster took that as a sign of pleasure, a signal to continue. His large digits dipped into the microscope's sparkplate seams as he popped the tip of Perceptor's scope into his mouth.

Oh, he should have fought. His Autobot ideals would never allow him to be in this sort of situation. He should have fought until death instead of giving in. But he was so very tired. It felt like megavorns, maybe it _had_ been megavorns, since his capture. At first, he had fought Motormaster so viciously, refusing to give in with so much zest and fervor that it had only spurred Motormaster on.

But, through numerous beatings, Perceptor's resolve crumbled. It disintegrated to dust as he realized the Autobots were not coming to rescue him. It had been too long since his capture, a fact that Motormaster loved to repeat to him. Their betrayal, their abandonment, still stung. Energon tears pricked at the corners of his optics, rolling down his cheek seams as Motormaster nipped playfully at his sparkplates, eager for his sparklocks to disengage.

At least Motormaster was making sure to pleasure the sciencebot along with himself, Perceptor reasoned. Although a little bit rough for his tastes, this new sort of 'facing was a godsend compared to the brutal beatings of the earlier orns of his capture. Currently, the Stunticon commander was behaving more gently than Perceptor believed he was capable of.

Motormaster triumphantly chuckled as Perceptor's sparkplates clicked open under his ministrations. Perceptor no longer attempted to hold back his pleasured keens and moans as his hated enemy reverently stroked the most intimate part of his being.

Perceptor refused to allow himself to be beaten, raped, or humiliated any longer. Even though it meant accepting his position as pet to the commander of the craziest of 'Cons, this choice was as clear as day to Perceptor. Here he would remain, the pleasurebot of Motormaster. His only regret was giving up his science. He did _not_ regret giving up the Autobot cause. After all, his cause had betrayed him, not the other way around._  
_


	4. C is for Consult

Mirage, you're so dense. XD

DO REVIEW. I LURRRVE REVIEWS.

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Title: Consult  
Rating: PG  
'Verse: G1  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  
Pairing: Mirage/Red Alert  
Warnings: None, really.

_Consult- to seek advice or information of_

The first gift came after his regular duty cycle one rainy earth day. A relatively innocent-looking box gleamed from atop his berth, bursting with decadent energon sweets.

The second gift had been a few sealed cubes of the most magnificently brewed high-grade he'd tasted in a long time, delivered exactly an orn after the energon sweets.

The third gift came with something new. A note was hidden under a bottle of expensive polishing wax. '_To the most beautiful mech in the galaxy,'_ it read.

To say Mirage was flattered was an understatement. The note prompted Mirage to wonder as to who his secret admirer was exactly.

The mech had to be someone with a decent processor; after all, the admirer had to hack the lock to get into his room in the first place. Or it could have been an officer with an override code. And clearly he had quite a few credits…

But, no matter. Mirage dismissed the thoughts as he rounded the corner to Red Alert's office to consult the security bot on any suspicious activities around his room.

The doors swooshed open immediately as he neared them. Mirage noticed this, slightly surprised. You'd think a mech as paranoid as Red Alert would keep his doors locked at all times.

The security director sat in his familiar spot, watching the security monitors studiously. He was so engrossed he didn't notice Mirage walking in.

The blue and white mech cleared his throat to get Red Alert's attention. The mech jumped a mile at his unexpected guest, whipping around his spinning chair to see the intruder.

Mirage greeted the mech cautiously, "Hello there, Red Alert." The security director looking uncomfortably nervous, but Mirage dismissed that with a slight frown. Red Alert was _always_ nervous.

He continued, "Sir, may I look at the security tapes from the hallways near my quarters? There has been an… intruder in my quarters the last few orns and I would very much like to know who."

Red Alert's optics widened dramatically, his horns sparking. Mirage winced internally, interpreting the mech's reaction as the start of a paranoia attack. The Lamborghini searched the room frantically with his optics, before stammering an answer to Mirage's request. "W-well, you see… I, uh… I-I… the… t-the security tapes for that orn… they, they malfunctioned, yes, that's it! They malfunctioned and were ruined as a result!"

Mirage drooped in disappointment. "Oh, very well then." He sighed, frowning. He pursed his full lips as he noticed Red Alert still acting strangely. The mech was fidgeting and refusing to meet his optics, Mirage noted with worry. None of these were the normal reactions Red Alert had during a meltdown. What worried him the most was the intense energon blush staining Red Alert's cheekplates, a tell-tale sign of an overheating mech. Mirage stepped forward, gently placing his servo on Red Alert's forehead to run a diagnostic. "Are you alright, Red?"

Red Alert froze. 'Oh my Primus, he's _touching_ me!' the mech thought, before his optics rolled back into his helm and he slumped forward as his processors failed.

Mirage nearly dropped Red Alert as his weight suddenly pitched forward. He noted the slack expression and offlined optics with a sigh, realizing the mech's processors had shut down. He silently pinged Ratchet up to the security office, shifting the security mech into a more comfortable position.

When Ratchet arrived, wielding his fearsome wrench and incensed about having to repair another bot's processors yet again, Mirage calmly and almost fearlessly (not completely, though, as every Autobot in their right mind feared the CMO) relayed the events shortly before the processor attack.

At that, Ratchet's infuriated anger quickly melted into amusement. Mirage could only stare in wonder and confusion when the CMO laughed uproariously. The amused mech advised Mirage to "stop being such a dense idiot", before making his way back to the medbay, towing the stasis-locked Red Alert with him.

Mirage sighed at the retreating mech, wondering how he got stuck with such an insane group of mechs. What did that even mean? Why was he an idiot and why was it so funny? Mirage shook his head and made his way to his quarters, resigned to the fact that he probably would never find out.

Well, at least he could look forward to the next orn and his newest gift, Mirage reasoned. Hopefully Red Alert's cameras would be working by then.


	5. A is for Amorous

PLEASE REVIEW. :]

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Title: Amorous  
Rating: T  
'Verse: G1  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  
Pairing: Springer/Perceptor  
Warnings: None, really.

_Amorous- expressive of or exciting sexual love or romance._

As Springer began to spend more time around Perceptor, he began to notice the more attractive parts of the scientist. His big sapphire optics, his slim waist, his pert little aft… Even more than that, he noticed the general lack of interest the other mechs of the Ark seemed to have towards Perceptor. No one seemed to be interested in a relationship with the scientist, which surprised Springer greatly. He wasn't going to admit this to anyone, but, frag that mech had a nice aft.

Perceptor needed new materials, and Springer was sent to guard the mech during his expedition outside the Ark's security perimeters. Naturally, Springer wasn't even remotely interested in whatever it was that Perceptor was collecting, but… With a happy exclamation, Perceptor leaned over a log to examine a specimen, leaving Springer with a great view of his aft.

Springer's servos twitched with the urge to touch that pretty, shiny black metal. The green mech quickly dismissed that thought, clenching them into fists to dispel the urge.

A faint cough interrupted his thoughts. The faint energon blush adorning his partner's cheeks made Springer realize he'd been blatantly staring at Perceptor's aft and the mech had caught him doing it.

He looked away with a rumbling chuckle. "Sorry 'bout that. Don't know what got over me." He genuinely apologized, reaching back to scratch his neck cables nervously.

"Oh, I assure you, it is _quite_ alright." If Springer heard correctly, Perceptor just _purred_ something at him. In a _damn sexy_ voice, too_._ The triple-changer dropped the arm scratching his neck to gape at Perceptor. The mech threw an amorous glance over his shoulder before leaning back over to continue examining the specimen.

Springer's jaw hit the ground. Did he just give me permission to check out his aft? He wondered, shrugging. With a lecherous grin pasted on his faceplate, the green triple-changer leaned back on a nearby tree to enjoy the view. Don't mind if I do.


	6. O is for Oktoberfest

Sorry about the wait, I was up at my cabin and had no way of uploading stuff! D:

Review please. :3

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Title: Oktoberfest  
Rating: M  
Verse: G1  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  
Pairing: Bumblebee/Mystery Autobot  
Warnings: Mentions of sexual stuff :D Rated for safety.

Oktoberfest- a festival held in autumn that usually features the consumption of beer.

"…umblebee?"

Ugh. What was that noise? And why did he _ache_ so much? He swatted blindly at the noise, groaning grumpily. Unfortunately, the hand he intended to whack the other mech with was connected to the opposite wrist and the gesture made him slip and slam his head into the cold, hard metal surface of his berth.

Wait. Metal? One of the greatest perks of being an officer was his high-quality, officer berth, formed of the softest, squishiest gel foam available to the Autobots. He blearily onlined his optics to stare at the shiny metal of a… desk? And why exactly were his servos cuffed together? Were those…. Stasis cuffs?

"Bumblebee."

His head snapped up harshly at the mention of his name. The motion left his vision whirling and fizzing into darkness. As his vision resurfaced, color came back in splotches and his vision was greeted by a red chevron and white doorwings. Prowl.

"Bumblebee." The Autobot SIC growled, optic twitching. "Why are you revealing yourself in such a provocative manner on my desk?"

A dull throbbing processor ache settled behind Bumblebee's optics. "Revealing myself?" He moaned, stuffing his aching face into his hurting arms. Primus, what happened? Did he get run over by a tank or something?

Prowl frowned deeply, creases forming on his forehead from annoyance. "Yes. On. My. Desk." He grumbled, wanting nothing other than to sit back and drown himself in paperwork to forget the high grade-filled night he'd had. Well, the entire Ark had. Remind him never to allow the twins to celebrate any more human holidays involving drunkenness.

A breeze brushing Bumblebee's nether regions brought an astonishingly embarrassing detail to his attention: his interface panel was open. Not only that, he was currently leaning over a desk, his servos locked in stasis cuffs with his bare aft tilted appealingly in the air. With a yelp, he quickly shut his panel and leapt up from Prowl's desk. Disturbed by the quick sealing of his interface panel, a glob of thick silver liquid slowly ran its way down Bumblebee's thigh. The yellow Beetle watched in horror as it smacked with a loud squish straight onto Prowl's pristine floor. Prowl's doorwings fell ominously to his sides, tense and trembling with fury.

Bumblebee bolted before the police 'bot could say anything else, ignoring the shooting pains exploding his thighs. He didn't care how much it hurt, all he needed was to get back to his quarters to think. And probably cry a little.

What the hell happened last night? Bumblebee cried to himself. Just what kind of 'facing makes a mech hurt so much? And how the frag did we end up in Prowl's office, for crying out loud? He slammed the stasis cuffs against the wall, shattering them into little pieces.

He came to a halt, resting his head against a wall as he searched his memory. Think, Bumblebee, think. Who was it?

He sighed as his memory came up blank. I'm never drinking high-grade again, he decided. Never again.


	7. I is for Involuntary

Sorry about the lack of updates, my life just sucks right now and its been super hard for me to find any inspiration or willpower. :/

Please review!

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Title: Involuntary  
Rating: PG  
'Verse: G1  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  
Pairing: Well, it was supposed to be Frenzy/Menasor… but then it turned into Frenzy/Wildrider. 8D bahahahaha.  
Warnings: None, really.

_Involuntary- Without intention; unintentional; Not voluntary or willing; contrary or opposed to explicit will or desire; unwilling_

Frenzy could only stare in horror as a large and ominous shadow fell over him. Oh, slag. The huge shadow went beyond the height of a single mech. Somebot like Optimus Prime could send a real big shadow, and it'd be a real fearsome shadow, too. But this shadow spread its blackness many yards ahead and around him, meaning only one thing: A gestalt.

And that meant a very, very bad thing for the cassetticon. You see, Frenzy could specifically remember lacing one of the Constructicon's experimental vials of liquid with nitroglycerin not even a breem ago.

He turned, gaping in horror at sight. Relief flooded his systems for a brief moment. It wasn't Devastator. As Menasor took a ground-shaking step towards him, that relief quickly washed away into sheer panic. Menasor isn't crazy enough to blatantly attack one of his own, is he? Frenzy thought, diving towards a rock.

His knee joints locked together as the combiner slowly lifted a pede. The combiner was going to stomp him into scrap, he realized, too frozen to dodge the attack. He silently pinged a hopeless S.O.S. to Soundwave and the other Cassetticons, even though he knew their silent creator prohibited his fellow cassettes from leaving their posts.

"You." Menasor boomed, multi-toned voice sending a shiver down his backstrut. "Clean pede." He rumbled, shifting his pede closer to Frenzy. The cassette gaped from the Combiner to his foot to what looked like the squished remains of some furry organic creature pressed to Menasor's foot.

"I ain't touchin' that!" Frenzy blurted, balking at the disgusting squashed organic. He cursed his voice for squeaking in terror. He was a Decepticon, and Decepticons weren't afraid of anything. 'Specially not stupid gestalts. Oh, who was he kidding? _Starscream_ was their Second-in-Command and Air Commander. The Decepticons were as "fearless" as they bragged, and Ravage was a cuddly, adorable little kitten who would rather purr than _bite your digits off the moment you touched her. _

Menasor curled his lip, the very epitome of annoyed and impatient. Frenzy would remove the dead organic from his pede, or he'd be crushed under that very same pede and his parts would only be another thing for some other helpless Decepticon to remove.

"It could be contaminated or somethin' weird." Frenzy offered weakly.

"Do!" Menasor roared, stomping the dirty foot like an angry bull and then shoving it in Frenzy's face.

Immediately, Frenzy felt his morning rations flood back up his intake. "Fine." He gulped, involuntarily taking a few steps to the Stunticon gestalt. Why? He shrieked inwardly, recoiling as the messy glob of what used to be an organic became clearer as he crept closer.

He eyed the biggest chunk of gore. Might as well just get this over with, he encouraged himself. Touching the least amount of the organic as possible, he grasped the piece and pried it off. He threw it as far from himself as he possibly could, a disgusted shriek biting at the edges of his mouth. Frenzy refused to let the noise out, though. He was not a femme and he was not going to shriek like one.

Without the support from the biggest piece, most of the flesh slid off the pede. Startling Frenzy, Menasor abruptly pulled his pede away to stare at it. He finally let out a grunt and lumbered off, presumably to go find himself some Superion to beat up. Poor Frenzy was left holding back his urges to run back to the Nemesis and scrub himself clean until his very paint rubbed off and then purge his tanks until he had nothing left to purge.

And, that was the state Rumble found him in, curled up under a rock and twitching madly. Soon the retreat was sounded and the Decepticon army made their way back to the Nemesis.

Further deepened by claims on the internet of walking, dead organics that ate live organics' processors, Frenzy was left with an irrational fear of dead organics from that day forward. Also, Wildrider had suddenly begun to hang around him, shamelessly flirting and offering to give the cassette pede massages. Frenzy wasn't exactly sure what prompted this, but he merely assumed the insane Stunticon was being… well, insane. One orn, Wildrider had somehow locked the two of them in a storage closet, firmly intending to "prove his love" to Frenzy, who was lucky enough to escape the crazy mech through a vent.

From that moment on, Frenzy took to clinging to Soundwave as much as possible. He'd prefer a silent drone to an insanely affectionate mech anyday.


End file.
